User blog comment:Bartholomew Bilberry Bowstring/The First of Many/@comment-26024035-20160425040834/@comment-4677325-20160425120021

Falkin, who had been barely even paying attention to the plan, glances up from sharpening his dirk with a chipped rock upon hearing his name being called. He gently drops the rock onto the grass, looking the shining blade up and down before sheathing it in the belt holding his waistcoast to his body. He then folds his arms, mumbling something incoherently underneath his breath, before responding. "I can handle that. Assuming we don't face too much resistance." He pauses, his gaze shifting over towards all of the other soldiers.